Operation: Cheer Jack
by The Dragoness 06
Summary: See inside for more extensive author's notes - but this is basically a transcription of the shenanigans that creative people get up to when they have nothing else to do! There shouldn't be any recognizable characters, and Captain Jack Harkness is so not my property - although I think we could make him very happy around here, if he wanted to surrender himself...
1. So, Jack

_**Long But Necessary Author's Note:**_ First off, I need to point out that this is not a part of _The Makenzie Chronicles_, even though there's a character named Ivan. This story is complete in its entirety, and will be posted over the next few days - but you need to know what's going on, for this to make any sense.

Cosplayers are unique individuals; to be a cosplayer is more than just putting on a Halloween costume and having a good time. Anyone can do that. To be a cosplayer is to also put on the *personality* of the character you're representing. It's a level of dedication to getting the costume right, the mannerisms, the personality. Some people do it really well, some people give it the ol' college try - but cosplayers, as a rule, have a lot of fun doing what they do, and are usually pretty supportive of each other.

I got a call from a friend of mine recently, with regards to a friend of hers - a young man who cosplays Captain Jack Harkness exceptionally well. When he puts on the Jack Harkness costume, he puts on the personality and mannerisms as well, and becomes Capt. Jack Harkness for all intents and purposes. During the course of the phone call, it was mentioned that Jack (referred to as Our Jack for clarification purposes) needed something to laugh about, so my friend and I started a campaign we dubbed "Operation: Cheer Jack". We got a few other cosplayers involved - including a wonderful Ianto Jones cosplayer - and filmed a series of videos that were sent to Our Jack over the course of a number of weeks, along with "ransom notes" preceding each installment, to keep the mystery going and ensure Our Jack would find the humor in the situation.

What you are about to read is the transcript of my half of the videos - I cosplayed The Dragoness (obviously), and thus began my career as a Doctor Who Villain. Yay me! My husband cosplayed the temporary henchman Ivan for the videos (coincidentally enough, the same person upon whom the character of Ivan Makenzie was based for my Makenzie Chronicles stories). With any luck, when this is finished posting, we'll have the other half of the story ready to post - what was going on from Captain Jack's side during all of this!

The chapters will be relatively short; each chapter break represents the end of one video segment - I wanted you to read it the same way Our Jack was experiencing it as we sent him the videos! Feedback is always welcome, please leave kind comments and suggestions! And go hug a cosplayer - they need love to!

* * *

_**So, Jack…**_

Ianto came to slowly. He knew something was most definitely wrong, but his mind was so foggy, it was almost impossible to think. The last thing he could clearly remember was waving goodbye to Jack and the others from Torchwood 3 as they were heading out to trace a rift alert that was going to keep them away for several days. The rift predictor indicated that everything back in Cardiff should be quiet; there were no significant incursions predicted for the next 14 to 20 days, and any of the small activities that might crop up, he knew he'd be able to handle alone. Ianto had volunteered to remain behind and keep an eye on things, and perhaps get caught up on the seemingly endless paperwork that kept appearing within the Hub. After that, his memory started to become sketchy.

His entire body ached. His head felt stuffed with cotton – as did his overly dry mouth – and the fire of over-stressed muscles burned through his arms and shoulders. Slow flexing of each muscle group as he waited for his thoughts to clear indicated that he wasn't really injured; it was more the stiffness of being held in one position for too long. Finally, knowing that he was never going to remember what had happened, or figure out what to do next, without opening his eyes, Ianto drew in a deep breath, opened his eyes, and raised his head.

Immediately, memory flooded back, and he almost wished he could fall back into unconsciousness. Set up in one of the little-used upper rooms of the Hub was a full mock-up of a pub, and he had been taken prisoner and tied to the bull horns mounted on the wall above the bar. His tie had been used as a gag – and oh, was he irritated about that. Saliva left such a disgusting stain on silk. That at least explained why his arms and shoulders ached with strain. He knew who had done this – he just didn't understand why.

To Ianto's right was a lovely young brunette woman in a pristine black-and-white dress, who looked like she could have stepped out of a promotional campaign for the 1950s. Her hair was perfect, as was her smile – but there was a gleam of madness in her eyes. She was brandishing a cast iron skillet that looked sufficiently large enough to crack his skull.

Gliding into his vision from behind him to his left, there suddenly appeared a woman of average height and stocky frame. Dark hair, accented with faint hints of blue, cascaded over her shoulders, kept back from her face by a band of twinkling fairy lights. A black and gold mask concealed most of her face – and although Ianto didn't know her true face or name, he still recognized the red-draped form before him. The Dragoness; a colorful character, no doubt, but up until the most recent series of events, Ianto would have categorized her with words borrowed from the immortal Douglas Adams. Mostly harmless. She drifted past him almost as if she were swaying to music only she could hear. Her gaze was almost vacant, glassy, and she was smiling for no apparent reason. The red-clad form drifted over towards the bar, near his feet, and picked up one of the many brightly-colored sherbet straws that had been strewn about. With a tittering giggle, The Dragoness ripped one of the straws open and tipped back the contents, offering up a contented sigh.

Suddenly focused, The Dragoness turned and stared wide-eyed at one of the internal CCTV cameras; Ianto could see that the red indicator light was activated, proving that something – or someone – was recording what was going on in the Hub. He could only hope that some how, an alert would go out to Jack's vortex manipulator, and the handsome Captain would appear to fix this insane situation.

"So, Captain," the Dragoness began speaking directly to the camera, as though she were speaking directly to the absent Jack Harkness. "You decided to ignore me. You haven't responded to any of my love notes or messages. So I thought we needed a little incentive to make sure you truly understood the direness of the situation for ignoring the Dragoness." With that, she whipped around and pointed at the brunette who was still threatening Ianto with the skillet.

"Muriel! Threaten him!" she demanded. Muriel, as the woman was named, lifted the skillet above her head, but seemed to be struggling a bit with the weight. Ianto remembered reading the file on her, now. It was an incident that Torchwood had been called upon to deal with many decades earlier, a situation that Jack had dubbed "The Stepford Wives Incident". Muriel, and the few other women like her, resented the advancements in society and technology that was forcing the world away from the idealized lifestyle of the American 50s; they claimed they were prepared to do whatever was necessary to restore and protect their "perfect" way of life.

The Dragoness started speaking to the camera again. "Now we could complete this threat, but I think we have another proposition we need to take care of. Something about a coin, I believe? Now, Jack, darling, here's where you need to flip that coin!" This was an entirely new turn of events; Ianto wasn't aware of any letters or coins. Exactly how long had Jack and the others been gone? How long had he been a prisoner of the Dragoness?

The Dragoness slipped behind Muriel, who had at least stopped threatening to brain Ianto with the skillet and had settled for simply poking him repeatedly in the ribs with it. Ianto could see the Dragoness' scarlet-tipped fingers dip out of sight, but whatever it was she had retrieved she kept it below his field of vision until she could move back to the end of the bar, and within range of the camera once more. She smiled broadly, and continued speaking. "Because when you flip that coin, one of two things will happen. Either he will get the feather!" And here, she produced and brandished a bright-yellow feather duster, and Ianto flinched involuntarily. "Or he will get the entire chicken, from whom the feather was plucked." The Dragoness moved as though to gesture dramatically to the aforementioned animal – but there was nothing there. She turned in place, scanning the floor around her feet and around the bar.

"Chicken? Where's my chicken!" she exclaimed. Drawing a deep breath, she shouted out into the rest of the Hub. "Igor! Igor, where's my chicken!"

A deep voice answered, one that Ianto didn't recognize and which caused him to feel sudden alarm. "Coming, Mistress."

A looming form appeared in the doorway. The man was well over 6 feet tall – easily as tall as the Captain himself, if not a little taller – and was wearing combat boots, dark trousers, and an off-white peasant shirt. Over that, he was wearing a fully-equipped flak vest, and he was cradling what looked like an AK-47 in his arms. Wildly tousled black hair and a bushy black beard completed the man's appearance – as well as, incongruously enough, a pair of glasses – and he appeared to be licking his fingers as he stepped into the room. The Dragoness gave a start of surprise, and took a half-step away from the man.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, obviously startled.

"Ivan," he answered simply. The Dragoness planted her fists on her hips, and glared at him. Ivan seemed, all things considered, very unconcerned.

"Where's Igor?" she demanded.

"He's on vacation," Ivan explained cheerfully. "Contractual." He jerked a thumb at his own chest. "Temp hench. I'm the replacement for the next two weeks."

"Henchmen don't get vacation!" The Dragoness insisted, stamping her foot.

Ivan shook his head, correcting her. "Oh, but they do. Subchapter 5, paragraph 3. Tiny letters. Tiny, tiny."

The Dragoness heaved a disgruntled sigh, tapping her red lacquered nails on the surface of the bar as she frowned. "Great. The henchmen's union has better benefits than we do."

Ivan shrugged as if to say, 'Waddaya gonna do?' "Well, you're on the top of the rack. We've got to have something," he offered. The Dragoness threw her hands up in disgust.

"Well… Ivan, was it?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes, yes mistress."

"Ivan, where's my chicken?" The Dragoness demanded, once more brandishing the feather duster like a very short, fluffy swagger stick.

A look of concern swept over the big man's face, and he paused. "Uhhh… Was it needed for something?"

"Yes…" the Dragoness drawled threateningly.

Ivan looked both embarrassed, and a little frightened. "uh… Oops."

The Dragoness stared at him for a few moments, noticing the tell-tale stains of a recently eaten meal, and remembering the finger-licking from moments earlier. She sighed. "Well, then I guess we'll have to go for the second best. It's either the feather, or… the Teletubbies!" She gestured dramatically with the fluffy yellow item in her hands, pointing it threateningly at Ianto.

"You choose, Jack! Flip the coin and decide. Ianto is waiting for your answer!"


	2. Need Some Incentive?

_**Need some incentive?**_

Ianto knew hours had passed, but with nothing to measure against, he had no way of telling how much time had gone by since the Dragoness' last rant about the missing chicken. Muriel, the perfect Stepford wife, periodically poked him solidly in the ribs with the cast iron skillet, but it was more irritating than painful. She wasn't putting enough force behind the blows to bruise his skin, let alone threaten damage to his ribs. More bored than anything else, Ianto sighed. Periodically, the temporary henchman Ivan would roam through the mock-pub and check that the prisoner was still secure, peruse the alcohol selection and steal a drink when Muriel was distracted, but like most temporary employees, he didn't seem to be taking the job very seriously. Ianto had been able to wiggle his gag down several times with no one noticing for several minutes, before Ivan would eventually reach up and simply slide the gag back in place. He never even bothered to tighten it.

The Dragoness, fairy lights still blinking merrily and still brandishing the feather duster-cum-swagger stick, would periodically wander up to the bar, give a quick brush of feathers across one of Ianto's bare feet, then select a random sherbet straw and wander away once more to do Heaven-only-knew-what. Try to play fetch with Myfanwy, Ianto thought grumpily.

Eventually, though, the Dragoness came wandering back to stare vacantly at the CCTV camera once more. "Jack, darling," she suddenly began speaking. "I think you might need some extra incentive for meeting our demands." She moved to the back side of the bar, slowly approaching the bound and helpless Ianto.

"Muriel, if you'll be a dear and trade places with me?" With a steady glare and a grim expression, Muriel edged away from Ianto without once taking her eyes off of him. She continued to hold the skillet thrust in his general direction, as though waiting for him to do something that would warrant a solid thumping from the heavy object. The Dragoness sighed.

"Oh, you've got a good arm," she told the lovely Stepford wife. "You can bean him with the pan from a good distance."

Grinning madly, Ivan stepped up to the side of the bar opposite where the Dragoness was standing, and shoved one of the bar stools aside. Ianto had no idea where the trio had managed to find all of this equipment – or even how they'd gotten it down to the Hub. "Here ya go, sweetie!" Ivan called out cheerfully in his gravelly voice. He gestured grandly at the vacant space on Ianto's left. "Right next to him!"

Smiling sweetly, Muriel moved up beside Ianto once more, and as though to prove she was still a valid threat poked him in the ribs once more. Well, Ianto thought, at least it's a change from poking him in the right side of his chest constantly. Even his thoughts were snarky.

Turning to the camera once more, the Dragoness began speaking again. "Now, Jack. Now that _I_ have taken over the hub, I think there's going to be a few changes made. For one thing…" She reached below the level of the bar, and Ianto stiffened as he recognized the bag of his beloved Eight O' Clock Coffee. He felt his entire body stiffen in alarm, and he tried to reach to snatch it from her, his actions halted by his bonds.

"_**This**_," the Dragoness continued, holding up the mostly full bag. "Eww! How could you even think _**this**_ was good coffee?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust, opening the mouth of the bag wide.

"This is what we do with coffee like this…" And with that, the Dragoness tipped the entire contents of the bag into the garbage, and Ianto couldn't stop himself from shouting in protest, although it was muffled by the gag. Behind him, Ivan chuckled.

"From now on, it will be tea! Or this!" From somewhere, the Dragoness produced a small package of coffee with a universally familiar green-and-white logo, and Ianto recoiled in horror. How had _that_ travesty of coffee brewing ever made it into his Hub! Even worse, he could tell by the green accents on the bag that, as though the brand itself weren't insult enough, it was also _decaf_. Before he could react further, the Dragoness was speaking again. "This will be the coffee of choice for the Hub. Remember this, _**tea boy**_!" she sneered at the bound and gagged Ianto. Now, for the first time, he was furious.

The Dragoness lifted a familiar looking coffee mug as she continued speaking once more. Ianto recognized it as his favorite mug, a gift from Jack – one that had been decorated with the likeness of his Captain, the Doctor, and one of their dear friends. "Just remember, Jack," she said. "The more you don't meet our demands, the worse it gets." In the blink of an eye, the white porcelain mug slipped from her fingers and hurtled toward the concrete floor. Ianto felt his heart clench, and his temper reach incandescent levels, at the echoing sound of shattering porcelain.

"Oops! Was that important to someone?" the Dragoness asked girlishly, bringing the fingertips of one hand to her mouth. "Oh, my bad!"

Again, Ivan began to chuckle. Before too many more seconds had passed, Muriel seemed to break, and abandoned her skillet onto the surface of the bar. She swept away in a flurry of tulle and satin, returning within moments with a broom and dustpan. Within seconds, the porcelain shards had disappeared – but Ianto vowed he would remember this outrage.

* * *

**Author's Note:** For the scene with the breaking coffee mug, we used a mock-up of a mug that Our Jack had gifted to my friend who started this whole process. I didn't dare use the actual mug itself, since it's one of her most prized possessions, and I didn't want to take the chance of something going wrong and it actually getting broken. So I bought a mug at the Dollar Store, and taped a copy of the picture from her mug to this one - and then the stupid thing wouldn't break. I swear, I think that $1 mug will survive a nuclear blast..._  
_


	3. The Game Continues, Jack

_**The game continues, Jack**_

The hideous, jingling refrain of the Teletubbies opening still echoed in Ianto's brain. He'd mercifully lost consciousness at some point, and when he came around once more he found himself tied to a tall barstool. At least his shoulders were finally able to relax. He still ached all over from being immobilized for so long, but the fire of strained muscles across his shoulders and up into his neck was finally receding. He needed a cup of coffee, a shower, and food – not necessarily in that order. He suddenly realized his tie was draped around his neck, not shoved into his mouth as it had been, and that the red indicator light was on, indicating that someone was yet again watching. He decided to take his chances, and see if he could reach out to Jack.

"Jack, I swear to God, if you don't get me out of here, we're not playing naked hide and go seek any–" His shouting was cut off when the Dragoness lunged for him.

"Who ungagged him!" she shrieked, slapping a length of shipping tape across his mouth. "Now, let's just make sure that stays nice and in place!" With that, she leaned down and pressed a firm kiss against his lips on top of the tape, leaving – he was sure – the impression of her Scarlet Heart lipstick behind.

The Dragoness turned and glared at her henchwoman and the temp-hench, pointing imperiously at Ianto. "That gag never comes off! What have I told you? Now…" she drifted away from Ianto, back towards the bar and the dwindling stash of sherbet straws. Ivan was looking at the bound Ianto, a merry gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face.

"That's your color, pretty boy!" Ivan guffawed. Ianto glared at him.

"Now… where were we?" the Dragoness started speaking once more. "Oh, that's right! Heeheehee!" she cackled.

"Oh, Jack, you shouldn't have flipped that coin. Oh! Oh, it makes an evil overlord's heart go pitter-patter. I think we broke your tea boy, just a little bit!" She waved the feather duster around expansively. "Oh, the poor little dear!" She spun to face her carefully coifed henchwoman.

"Muriel! Threaten him!" she demanded. Muriel, an egg whisk in one hand and a cake server in the other, gracefully lunged forward and began to poke Ianto in the chest with the whisk. Well, at least it was an improvement over the skillet!

"Whisk Him!" the Dragoness insisted, turning away. "Whisk him…" her voice trailed off uncertainly. Muriel began to tangle Ianto's hair with the whisk, and he tried to pull away from her ministrations.

"I don't know what he's twitchin' for," Ivan grumbled, watching the actions from the far side of the bar. "It ain't like he's got chest hair."

The Dragoness whirled back to face Ianto, bright and cheerful once more. Ianto was beginning to be concerned with just how much sugar the flamboyant, blinking character had ingested – and what was going to happen to him when the inevitable sugar crash came. He could only hope Jack returned to the Hub in time. "Our poor little tea boy!" the Dragoness exclaimed, moving towards him with hands outstretched. "He's all broken and damaged!" She placed one hand on each side of Ianto's face, then leaned forward to place a smacking, lipstick-smeared kiss in the middle of his forehead. Ianto could almost feel the vivid red cosmetic stain burning into his brain.

"And he's all ours, until you fulfill our demands!" the Dragoness gloated. "Oh, darling Jack! Whatever will we do next?"

"We got demands?" Ivan asked, looking confused. The Dragoness whirled to face the big man, brandishing her feather duster threateningly.

"Shhh! You're just a temp!" she insisited.

"Yes, we have demands!" Muriel pointed out. Ivan shrugged.

"I thought we were just having fun…"

The Dragoness indicated Muriel with a flick of the feather duster. "She's the full time hench. You're just a temp hench," she sneered.

"Yes, mistress," Ivan agreed placidly. It didn't really matter to him; a few more days and his stint here was up, then Igor could deal with the crazy lady again. One of the benefits of being a temp, he supposed…


	4. Ready To Roll the Die, Jack?

_**Ready to roll the die, Jack?**_

The Dragoness studied Ianto carefully. When she began speaking again, Ianto wasn't sure she even remembered that Jack wasn't in the Hub at all. As his ordeal progressed, the woman known only as The Dragoness seemed to becoming more and more sporadic, more and more confused.

"Now, Jack darling…" she was saying. "I believe that we now have a game to play… I think you may have received something in the mail? Let's see. What kind of fantastic tortures do we have lined up for dear Ianto?" She surveyed Ianto speculatively once more.

"Oh, dear little tea boy! Depending on what you roll on that magical little die, he could be subjected to the very best of the dramatic reading of "My Immortal", such a wonderful piece of fanfiction literature. …"

Unfortunately, Ianto had heard of that, and he felt himself grow nauseous at the thought. Apparently, someone else had seen it as well – Ivan made a faint gagging noise from where he stood on the far side of the pub. Not faint enough to avoid being heard by the Dragoness, however.

"Hush, you," she snapped at him. Then she turned to the camera once more, and continued listing off the possible tortures Ianto could face on her Critical Damage Chart©, as she referred to it.

"Or, he could be subjected to a choice selection of the fan tribute Twilight music videos. …." Upon hearing that, Ianto decided enough was enough. If Jack wasn't going to rescue him, some tortures weren't worth living through. He tried desperately to throw himself against the sharp point of Muriel's serving knife, and slit his own throat rather than risk those videos. The henchwoman was too fast for him, though, and pulled the knife away just in time.

"Oh, I know!" the Dragoness exclaimed, then finally noticed what Ianto had been attempting. "Yes, you have to live for the torture, dear," she chided him gently. "We can show him Life on Mars. The _**American**_ version!" At that pronouncement, Ianto felt bile burn the back of his throat.

"I think he just threw up a little." The big man was watching him closely, and seemed a bit concerned. The Dragoness waved his concerns away with her feather duster.

"He'll be okay. He can still breathe through his nose," she remarked casually. Then she brightened, struck with an idea. "Oh, no, wait! I know what one of the dice rolls should be! We'll lock him in here with the entirety of the Neighbor-Whos!" Ianto screamed wordlessly through his gag in protest.

"And let him take care of _all_ the little Whovers. Whovians. Who-fans." She seemed to get a little lost in her rant, trying to settle on the best word. "Whatever they're called. The Neighbor-Whos."

"Who-ligans," Ivan offered. The Dragoness brightened once more.

"Who-ligans! I like that! Very good, tenchman! Tenchman?" the Dragoness looked momentarily confused and bewildered before she mentally regrouped and continued on. "Temp hench. Temp hench sounds better. Whatever, whatever shall it be? Roll the dice, Jack! We have a game to play!"

Ianto was really starting to get concerned with the way the Dragoness' thought processes seemed to be splintering more and more.


	5. Any Number But That, Jack

_**Any number but that, Jack!**_

The Dragoness had wandered back into the room where Ianto was being held, and it wasn't long before Ianto found out what she had been up to. He could smell the odor of bad coffee being brewed badly – an alliteration he hoped to never have to repeat – and the distinctive sounds of a coffee pot in action. She started speaking almost as soon as she had entered the room. The woman had gone too far now! First she'd poured out his favorite coffee, then she'd broken his favorite mug – now… now she was tinkering with _his_ coffee maker!

"Now, Jack," the Dragoness was saying. "That wonderful, delicious sound you hear in the background? That's a pot of decaf brewing, just for our special little tea boy," she exclaimed in delight. Ianto couldn't control his involuntary need to retch at the thought.

"Oops! I think he may have thrown up again!" the Dragoness noted.

"Definitely," Ivan agreed. Moving along as if nothing else mattered, the Dragoness began speaking once more.

"So you've rolled that dice now?" she asked. Apparently, even though Ianto didn't know how, she'd gotten an answer to her previous message to Jack. "Oh! Hahahahaha!" her evil laughter echoed through the otherwise deserted hub, the henchwoman Muriel joining in in the cacophony of chaos. "You shouldn't have rolled that number!" the Dragoness exclaimed.

She was cut off by Ivan. "Hahahaha!" he laughed. The Dragoness turned to give him a hard look.

"Timing! Timing, temp hench!" she chided. The big man shrugged helplessly, but the woman in red turned her back on him and kept speaking with the absent Jack. "You should have rolled any number but that one! Ivan! Cover him!"

Instantly, Ivan snapped the AK up to point directly at Ianto. Apparently, he took a direct order very seriously. Unseen by anyone else, Muriel had slipped a pair of wireless headphones over Ianto's ears, and was standing beside him, ready and waiting.

"Muriel, hit the playback, and start the torture!" the Dragoness shouted, pointing imperiously.

With the perfect smile of a gracious hostess, Muriel reached over and flipped the switch. Immediately, Ianto's head was filled with the most horrific caterwauling he had ever heard; it cast a black shadow of pain right through his temples and into his soul. Ianto groaned in pain, trying to cry out and beg for mercy, even as he began to shake uncontrollably.

"Hahahahaha!" the Dragoness screamed. Her laughter was echoed by the henchwoman beside him. "Scream, tea boy! Scream!" As much as he had been trained to resist giving in to torture, Ianto couldn't help himself this time; there was no way he could avoid the involuntary response to the hideous so-called music in his ears. He began to thrash wildly in protest.

"Man, he twitches a lot!" Ivan noted. Muriel edged away slightly in concern, readying her cake server and whisk weapons.

"Are you sure you tied his hands tight enough?" she asked, concerned. Before anyone could answer her, Ianto felt his eyes rolling back in his head as his body began to lapse into convulsions.

"Oh, and there he goes!" The Dragoness' words followed him into blessed, welcome unconsciousness, and the darkness closed over his tortured mind.

Ivan waffled between holding his rifle steady, and lowering it. "I don't think it matters… You still want me to cover him?" he finally asked.

* * *

_**Closing Author Notes:**_ No disrespect intended (hey, I actually managed to say that with a straight face!), but the "torture" that was selected was Justin Beiber… I know he has some genuinely dedicated fans out there – but I'm too old to be one of them.


	6. Red or Blue? Your Choice, Jack!

_**Red or Blue? Your choice, Jack?**_

Ianto could feel soft hands, slightly calloused, patting him gently on each cheek. Without even opening his eyes, however, he could already tell those weren't the hands he was hoping for. "Tea boy?" the Dragoness asked. "Tea boy, are you back with us, darling?"

Ianto opened his eyes to darkness. For the first time, he was blindfolded – which he completely did not understand. He had already seen the faces of his attackers, those who had held him prisoner and tortured him so unforgivably. What was the point in hiding their identities now? He could smell the delicate fragrance that the henchwoman Muriel favored, as she approached the Dragoness as she stood next to him.

Muriel approached the Dragoness with a gleaming serving tray. Beautifully arranged on the shining surface was a display of selected sherbet straws. "As you requested, Dragoness," the Stepford wife stated demurely. The Dragoness looked down at the tray and smiled.

"Oh, you do that so well!" she cried. "Such an artful display!"

Muriel blushed prettily. "Thank you, thank you!"

The Dragoness looked up to the active camera once more. "We have yet one more game to play, Jack! With our darling little tea boy!" She traced the feather duster up and down Ianto's torso a few times, and he flinched angrily away from the invasive, tickling sensation.

"He's so deliciously ticklish!" she exclaimed, before turning back towards the camera once more. "I believe you have yet one more choice to make. Is it going to be red? Or blue? This could be exciting! Pixi Stix are the most amazing things in the world!" _Sherbet straws, you daft woman!_ Ianto thought viciously.

The Dragoness continued on, her voice high and manic. "They make everything so happy! So sparkly shiny!" She clapped her hands together, like an excited little girl.

Behind him, Ianto could feel the heat radiating from the looming Ivan's form, and he began to wonder exactly what choice the Dragoness referred to – and why the big temp hench had to stand so close to him.


	7. Red It Is!

_**Red it is!**_

Still blindfolded, Ianto could hear movement – he knew the Dragoness was leaving the room, but without sight, he had no idea where she was going. He struggled a little against the ropes that were tying him to the chair; nothing obvious, more testing the strength of the knots. So far, none of the ropes with which he had been bound had been tied tight enough to actually cause physical harm – no chafed skin, no bruising, nothing. The restraints were more tedious and inconvenient than hurtful, but that didn't mean Ianto was happy with being bound – or blindfolded. Not with virtual strangers, at least.

Within seconds, the Dragoness was back in the room. Ianto could tell by her slightly raspy breathing that she was the one who had entered, especially since he could still feel Ivan's looming form standing behind him, radiating heat, and he could hear the crinkling sway of crisp tulle as Muriel moved slightly standing next to him. "Red, red, red! He chose red! Red, red, red!" As she got closer, Ianto could hear her mumbling the same two phrases over and over to herself in a sing-song voice, like a child's skipping tune or something. "Red, red, red! He chose red! Red, red, red!"

The Dragoness turned towards the camera once more. "This is going to be wonderful!" she exclaimed in an overly-loud, overly bright voice. "Are you ready?"

She turned back to face Ianto. "Ivan!" she snapped.

Ianto could her the big man behind him move, pulling himself straight. "Ma'am!" his rumbling voice boomed in response.

"Prepare the prisoner!" the Dragoness demanded.

Ianto heard something solid hit the floor – he had to assume it was the sound of Ivan placing his rifle on the floor – then he felt two massive hands that nearly engulfed his entire head press against either side of his skull, thumbs pressed into the back his skull just above his neck and fingers spanning around to frame his face.

"Hold still, pretty boy! Smile for the dragoness!" With just enough pressure to force him to comply, but not so much he was in danger of snapping Ianto's neck, Ivan forced the captive man's head back, tilting his face towards the ceiling.

"Open his mouth!" the Dragoness demanded next. Now Ianto was starting to get a bit nervous. Surely the daft woman wasn't going to try to force-feed him any of that dreadful decaf coffee, was she? Even the smell of it within the Hub was making him mildly nauseous. He would not be held responsible for his body's instinctive reactions if she actually tried to force him to drink that vile shite!

"This is going to be so much fun!" Muriel sounded very pleased with whatever was going on. Surely she wouldn't be party to the dissemination of decaf, would she?

"Are you ready tea boy?" the Dragoness almost cooed as she finally spoke to Ianto directly for the first time since re-entering the room. The next thing Ianto knew, he could feel something gritty and grainy being poured into his mouth and down his throat. He began to choke in instinctual response, but with his mouth braced open by the henchman's firm grip, he couldn't manage to spit the powder back out of his mouth before it began dissolving.

"Choke on it! Choke on it, pretty boy!" Ivan laughed behind Ianto, muttering directly in the bound man's ear. "Get it all in! Get it all! Take it all!" Ivan laughed. The crazy woman in red was feeding the captive candy. He should work for more evil overlords who thought this was the height of torture…

As the powder started to dissolve enough for Ianto to register what had been poured into his mouth, he relaxed slightly. It was sweet, like sugar, or candy… or sherbet straws…

"And now we just have to wait for the results!" the Dragoness continued. The influx of powder had finally stopped – apparently, this was all he was being 'tortured' with for the moment.

"Swallow it, swallow it!" the Dragoness demanded. It didn't help any when Ivan forced his mouth closed and held it closed until Ianto had no choice but to swallow the rapidly dissolving powder. Around him, he could hear both the Dragoness and her henchwoman Muriel erupting into gales of evil laughter. Periodically, Ivan chuckled as well, but he seemed more focused on making sure Ianto had fully swallowed the mouthful of powdered candy.

The Dragoness' feather duster swished past Ianto's head, apparently to point at Ivan. "That's you're cue, henchman," she demanded.

"Oh, right!" Ivan mumbled. Then he, too, joined into the chorus of villainous laughter with the two women. While the two hench-people kept laughing, the Dragoness turned towards the camera once more.

"See you soon, darling!" she said, blowing a kiss to the lens – and hopefully, the watching Jack on the other end.

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**Author's Snarky Comment, cleverly disguised as a note:** When I was transcribing the video dialogue and writing the text to flesh it out into a readable story, I read this part to my Ianto cosplayer. He looked at me, blinked a few times, then started laughing so hard I thought he was going to fall over. "Did you actually mean to write bad gay porn, or is that just a coincidence?" he finally managed to gasp. Then I thought about what I'd just written, and realized he was right. If I had to imagine what bad gay porn (or I dunno, maybe even good gay porn, I have no idea) sounded like, this seemed like it would fit the bill. So no, you aren't the only one who thought that when you read this section - so I decided to leave it as it was and give everyone a giggle...


	8. No Rescue Needed

_**No Rescue Needed**_

Ianto struggled against the massive hands that framed his face, forcing his head back and his mouth open. He tried to fight it as the Dragoness tipped the sparkling, sweet powder into his mouth, but it began to dissolve on contact. All in all, the sweet wasn't bad – sherbet straws had never been his favorite, even if the daft woman did insist on calling them Pixi Stix – and Ianto decided that if this was the epitome of the "tortures" the woman had designed, then he would be able to endure. Frustrated, yes, because someone had tinkered with his coffee pot, ruined his perfectly good supply of coffee, and was keeping him from getting caught up on his work – but all in all, survivable.

As the sticky-sweet powder poured into his mouth and throat, Ianto began to suspect there was something more to these Pixi Stix than he had at first thought. He began to feel a warm rush spread throughout his body, tingling across his cheeks and down his neck, spreading into his chest and arms, and out to the very tips of his fingers. Behind his tightly closed and blindfolded eyes, Ianto began to see flashes of light and color, predominately a rose shade tinting the darkness that surrounded him.

Ianto felt good. He felt really good. In fact, he'd have to say he felt better than good… he felt fabulous. For the first time in a long time, if ever, Ianto felt a strange, strong calling. For the first time, Ianto felt like truly releasing his inner bitch…

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ Well, that's it! You've reached the end of The Dragoness' part in the shenanigans that we get up to around here when there isn't enough of anything else to keep us occupied. If you're on Facebook, check out the pages "Doctor Who and the TARDIS by Craig Hurle" or "The Hub" to see what other shenanigans go on.

* * *

_**Final closing author's note:**_ Our "Ianto" doesn't just cosplay an excellent Ianto – he also cosplays an outstanding Dr. Frankenfurter. It's just a jump to the left…


End file.
